


In Sickness and In...Well...Sickness

by Jude81



Series: Prompts. Original Title. I know. [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Colds, Comfort, F/F, Humor, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 03:50:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5693485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jude81/pseuds/Jude81
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is to fulfill a prompt from teenage-bookw0rm on tumblr. </p><p>Clarke and Lexa are both sick. But who is the biggest whiner?</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Sickness and In...Well...Sickness

**Author's Note:**

> Right so I don't do prompts, mainly because I'm worried they won't live up to the Prompter's expectations. 
> 
> However, since this is the only person to ever give me a prompt, I decided to do it. Prompt from teenage-bookw0rm on tumblr. She wanted a story featuring Clarke and/or Lexa sick.

“I’m dying.”

Clarke groaned under her breath when she heard the tinny voice from the outer room. She half-heartedly threw the furs off herself. She shivered as the cool air hit her damp, clammy skin. She was only wearing small shorts and a tank top, and sometimes it felt like too much, and the next minute like too little. She heaved herself up off the bed, only to stumble and catch herself on the small stand in the tiny room. She swore under her breath as the room tilted dangerously, and clutched the table with both hands, breathing deeply as she could only for her inhalation to break off into a ragged coughing fit.

She groaned and choked on the phlegm, grabbing the mug on the table that was there for just such a purpose. She spit in it, and wrinkled her nose at the yellow color. Lexa wasn’t the only one dying. She set the mug back down and straightened slowly. Once the room stopped spinning, she stepped out into the other room looking for Lexa.

She wasn’t hard to find. Clarke just followed the sound of the deep, choking cough. She shook her head when she saw the commander sprawled in her throne, half of her armor still on; and the rest of it strewn around the floor.

“I’m dying, Klark,” croaked the brunette as she tried to sit up, her muscles trembling with the effort. She collapsed back into the throne, groaning as her muscles protested violently. She could barely breathe through her nose, and she was sure an icicle was being driven into her chest over and over again with every breath she took.

Clarke shook her head and immediately groaned as she felt it immediately start to throb. She was so tired, and so sick, she actually wanted to cry at this point. But first she had to get Lexa out of the throne and into bed.

She walked the few steps to the center beam in the tent and leaned against it, her breath coming in ragged spurts. “Come on, Leska, I will help you into bed.” But she still stood there, sagging against the beam, trying to will energy into her aching muscles, so she could make the short walk to the throne.

Lexa let her head roll to the side, “Sha, Klark. I’m coming,” she muttered, but she still didn’t move. She didn’t think she had the strength to get up. Maybe she could just slide off the throne and crawl to the bed? No one else was in the tent except Clarke, and surely she would keep her secret about how weak she was.

“Ugh,” she growled as she suddenly bent over coughing. She spit on the floor grimacing at the wad of phlegm. She slowly stood, clutching at the throne to keep from falling on her face. She very carefully stepped down off the dais, cursing herself for ever climbing up it to her throne in the first place. The few steps suddenly seemed like a long way down, and she could feel the heat in her cheeks suddenly draining away, and she shivered violently.

She let out a choked cry as she saw the floor rushing to meet her, and she closed her eyes, sure she was going to smash her face in the dirt, but instead she crashed into an over-heated body. When she finally opened her eyes again, she was sprawled on top of Clarke, who had her eyes clenched tightly shut and her face screwed up in a grimace.

“Are we dead? Please tell me we are dead,” Clarke muttered hoarsely as she finaly found the courage to open one eye. But all she could see was Lexa’s sweaty, pale neck. She tried to move, only for Lexa to start coughing violently, curling her body on top of Clarke’s.

Clarke groaned as Lexa’s bony elbows dug into her ribs as the older girl curled up coughing. She whimpered and tried to push her off, but she didn’t have the strength. “Off, you big oaf.” She wanted to cry and felt her eyes start to fill with tears. She had never been so ill. The Ark had always kept illnesses carefully contained, and the temperature rarely fluctuated on the Ark.

Lexa gasped, as the pain radiated through her chest. It had been years since she had been so ill, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up in a little ball on her bed. But first she had to get off of Clarke. She groaned and managed to roll off of her, opening her eyes, only to be greeting with Clarke’s scowling face.

“This is all your fault, Lexa,” snarled Clarke in between coughing.

“My fault! How is this my fault?!” Lexa could barely raise her voice, her throat her so much, but she felt more than a little indignant that the blonde would blame this plague on her. It was obvious that Clarke had gotten ill first and given this illness of death to her.

“You got me sick, Clarke. This is your fault,” she muttered as she reached out and pushed Clarke lightly. She had meant to push her a little harder, but what little energy she had left was quickly being wasted on fits of coughing.

“No, you branwada, you got sick, and insisted on still training, and made yourself even more ill. You got me sick!” Snarled the blonde as she batted uselessly at Lexa’s hand. “Ugh. It doesn’t matter. I’m going back to bed.”

“B-but, Klark, I had to train. I can’t have them thinking I’m weak,” whined Lexa pitifully, hurt that Clarke didn’t understand how important it was to train even when she was sick.

“You’re an idiot, Leska. You were sick and training in the mud and rain. You deserve this, but I don’t,” she muttered as she tried in vain to breathe through her nose. It hurt every time she breathed through her mouth, as she was sure her chest was being ripped open by some demon parasite that was probably lodged inside of her, thanks to Lexa being an idiot.

Clarke heaved herself up to her feet, stumbling slightly and looked down at Lexa who was giving Clarke her most pitiful stare. “Beja, Klark,” and Lexa held out her arms much like a small sick child would to her mother. Clarke seriously considered just leaving her there, but couldn’t quite bring herself to, when she saw those beautiful, pouty lips start to tremble. She rolled her eyes and bent down, putting her arms around Lexa’s torso. “Come on, you big baby.”

She heaved up as hard as she could, barely managing to get Lexa to her feet. Together they stumbled into the little room and collapsed in a heap on the bed.

“Ugh, get off me!” Clarke pushed at Lexa again, trying to get her off. Normally she would love the feel of Lexa’s weight pinning her to the bed, but not now. Not when she was sure she was going to die, either by coughing up her lungs and spleen, or by suddenly combusting into a ball of fire due to her raging fever.

Lexa rolled off and managed to get into a sitting position. She tugged at her coat, frustrated when her fingers shook and she couldn’t undo the clasps. “Klark, help me!” she whined.

Clarke ignored her, one arm over her eyes as she contemplated just how sick they both were, and how long it would take them to die. It couldn’t come quickly enough. She groaned as Lexa jostled the bed. And knowing that she wouldn’t get any sleep until she helped her, she pulled herself up into a sitting position.

“Ok, Lexa. Just stop,” she muttered, as her trembling fingers managed to undo the coat. Together they managed to wrestle Lexa out of her coat and pants, leaving her in her underwear and t-shirt. She laid back with a thump, her skin sweaty and itchy. She was so hot. She kicked her heels on the furs, praying death would come quickly. She coughed again, feeling the sticky phlegm crawling slowly up her throat. She almost hoped it would choke her to death. She leaned over the side, and spit, not caring that she missed the bucket.

Clarke lay back again, and as soon as she did, a violent shiver ripped through her body, and she groaned. She didn’t know what was worse, the constant rough body temperature fluctuations or the painful cough rattling in her chest. She shivered again and reached down for the furs, dragging them up over her legs and torso.

She lay back with a sigh, letting her eyes flutter shut. Peace. Peace at last.

“Klark, I’m hot.” Lexa started pushing the furs down her body, and wrenched her t-shirt off. She barely managed to get her bindings off, and she fell back on the bed, a light sheen of sweat pooling between her breasts and slicking down her belly. She was so damn hot!

Clarke groaned as she felt the furs kicked off of her. She was so damn cold! She growled as best as she could, and tugged the furs back in place, shivering almost violently. She curled into a little ball, trying to get warmer, but she let out a strangled screech when she felt cool air hit her torso.

“Damnit, Lexa! Stop throwing off the kivvers!” She growled, only to cough violently again, her face turning a bright red. She felt the pain tear through her chest, and she wheezed, desperately trying to fill her lungs with air. She was going to die. There was no avoiding it. She was going to die of the common cold. But first…first, she was going to kill Lexa.

Lexa knew she should probably feel bad when she heard Clarke coughing and wheezing, but she could barely summon up enough sympathy for her, because she was a little consumed with the realization that her body was on fire. She was slowly burning from the inside out, and she could only pray quickly for death.

“Klark, it’s so hot! I’m burning up. I’m dying, Klark!” cried Lexa as she fitfully squirmed on the bed. She was sticky and sweaty, and burning up, and she felt gross. So damn gross. She had never felt quite so gross before, not even the times she was drenched in blood. This…this she had no control over, and she could feel her anxiety rising rapidly. She turned on her left side and touched Clarke’s arm. Maybe Clarke would help her. Clarke cuddling her, always made her feel better, and despite the fact that she was sure she was about to turn into a human fireball, she would risk the additional body heat, if it meant Clarke would cuddle her.

Clarke ignored her, tugging at the furs again, wrapping them around herself this time, so they wouldn’t be on top of Lexa. She told herself she was doing it for Lexa, so Lexa wouldn’t overheat, but it was complete bullshit. She was doing it for herself, because she was freezing to death. She was sure her toes were frostbit at this point. If she survived this, she would probably have to have her feet amputated.

She scootched closer, despite Clarke’s disgruntled mutter. She buried her face in Clarke’s hair, wincing as the hair stuck to her sweaty face. She nudged Clarke’s back. Nothing. She nudged Clarke again. Nothing. She growled, and dug her hand down under the furs. She poked Clarke in the side. Still nothing, but she had felt Clarke shift slightly. Away from her.

“Klark, stop being mean!” whined Lexa, as she pushed against Clarke and continued poking her in the side.

“Stop it now! Or I will break your damn fingers!” snarled Clarke. It was the first time she had ever threatened physical violence against Lexa, but she was so miserable, she couldn’t quite bring herself to feel overly bad about it. She was exhausted, and Lexa was stomping on her very last nerve. She was going to have to kill the brunette if she didn’t stop.

“Klark,” whimpered Lexa, “cuddle me, beja.” Lexa barely got the words out as she coughed violently, wanting to cry at the searing pain that trembled through her limbs. She was going to die, and she wanted to die in Clarke’s arms.

Clarke grumbled under her breath, but she carefully rolled over so she was facing Lexa. The girl’s beautiful green eyes were wet, and her lips trembled. The fever had painted her cheekbones a stunning scarlet. Clarke felt her chest tighten, but instead of coughing, she let out a trembling wheeze. She reached out and pushed the long wild hair off the girl’s face. She cupped her cheek and pulled her down gently. She gently brushed her lips across Lexa’s dry lips, and then rested her forehead against Lexa’s.

“Leska, I love you. But if you ever go out and train in the mud and rain again when you are sick, I will end your fight.”

“Sha, Klark. No more,” whispered Lexa as she slipped an arm around Clarke’s fur covered body. She snuggled her face into Clarke’s neck, ignoring the hot sweat that stuck to her face. Despite how miserable and sick she was, there was no other place she would rather be.

Clarke smiled in amusement. She couldn’t wait to tell Raven and Octavia about what a big baby the Heda was when she was sick. She congratulated herself on at least maintaining some semblance of maturity despite the fact that she was dying of the plague. But she scootched a little closer, and slipped her hand into long brown hair, gently running her fingers through it. There was no other place she would rather be or be sick with.

**Author's Note:**

> So...was it any good? I tried to make it a little funny and sweet.


End file.
